Hoarfrost
Hoarfrost on the mountain today. It’s magical. We plan to go out with snowshoes shortly.
A moose cow visited early this morning. She showed up on camera at about 3:30am, moving slowly through the snow and leaving deep tracks in her wake. In the picture, above, you can see her tracks in the bottom right corner. She followed the same tracks up and back, and wandered the yard a little while she was here.
In the video, she appears rounded and heavy with calf, though (by my count) she would only be three or so months along. Gestation is about 230 days. I wonder if she is carrying twins.
The hoarfrost and moose visitation brings me back to my childhood in Alaska. We lived in the foothills outside Anchorage, and they seemed attracted to the open area behind our home. It wasn’t unusual to find two or three in the yard. I remember one morning looking out my window to find six cows there in snow up to their bellies.
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Until the reverberation of icy air carved open by wings – and two great white snowy owls alighted in the frozen birch beside me. White, on white, on white, and four bright gold eyes blinking. I could have reached out and touched their feathered bodies. I stood breathing in the sparkling silence, blinking back, my toes and fingers and cheeks growing numb.
We finished our breakfast as the light caught the snow on the wagon trail, reflecting pinks and reds and golds between the dark sage. The colors were still evolving when we started down the mountain. It’s always a good day when we see a moose. They bring me back to my childhood in Alaska. But this morning we were blessed with the sunrise, elk, moose, and a herd of deer crossing the road in front of us while drivers flashed their lights at each other in communal protection – of each other, and our fellow mountain dwellers.
When the kids were young, no matter how many times I told myself I wouldn’t do it, I succumbed to those heightened, commercialized, expectations. Craig reminded me the other day that one year we had six Christmas trees of various sizes and themes scattered throughout our home. They were beautiful but, in retrospect, a grasp at that shiny perfection we see on every magazine cover this time of year. If I weighed, now, the effort and expense in putting those trees up with the pleasure they provided, the effort would grossly outweigh the pleasure. And the sparkly dressing never really changed the reality of day-to-day life. Despite the splendor, we had family conflict (even more so because we were all exhausted), we experienced sadness and loss. I remember one year when a loved one overdosed and tried to avoid the paramedics by hiding behind the decorated tree in the dining room. The tree came crashing down onto the table, destroying glass ornaments and the centerpiece. In the end, none of that mattered. The only thing that any of us cared about was that a precious life was saved. We had more time together to learn and grow.
This Christmas will be bittersweet. If all goes according to plan, it will be the last year we enjoy Craig’s stonework. When we moved here five years ago, the previous owners had placed an old woodstove on tiles nearly in the middle of the floor. One of our first improvements was to purchase a stove that could be placed closer to the wall. Craig researched the codes and built the beautiful stone hearth and surround, and the pine mantle above it. I love those rocks, and I hope we can keep at least some of them, but next year the stove will move to new living quarters over the garage.
In the spring, we hope to break ground on our bed and breakfast. A longtime dream, the addition will dramatically change the configuration of our livingroom, while adding two gorgeous guest spaces with views of the creek and the valley. In this room, we’ll add a new stone fireplace, along with room for my piano.
In our family, we have always appreciated the extra goodness that comes with building, or baking, or creating with our own hands. When the grandkids ask for my carrot cake for their birthdays, or Craig’s homemade bread for sandwiches, it’s because these things taste a little better when they’re made with love. We’re excited about the changes, and look forward to being able to share our mountain B&B with friends and family. Like everything we apply ourselves to, these changes will be made with love. But now, working at the table while snow falls on the forest around us, I am looking through the white lights of our tree to the woodstove on Craig’s beautiful hearth. I’m grateful for him and the many ways he shows his love.
With snow in the forecast for Thursday, we took a long lunch on Tuesday and headed out. There were 8 or 9 trees down that Craig cut with his chainsaw. Together we rolled them aside and pulled the slash off the trail to redirect hikers. It was a beautiful day – the kind that reminds you what’s important. I’m grateful for my co-chair, Rachel’s, sage advice, and the reminder that life is always changing.